In His Eyes

She took it with a firm shake, then released his fingers and pulled out her own chair. “You look well,” she said, her eyes focused everywhere but on his.

“So do you.” He wanted to say so much more, but not today. She’d made it clear this was a business appointment. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

“You’re welcome. Dad sends his best wishes.”

“We had a nice talk today.” He admired Ellene’s father. Though a shrewd businessman, he had always been honest and forthright.

She nodded, her eyes focused on the menu.

“I didn’t know what to order you to drink,” he said, lost for words. He had so much to say—things he longed to tell her, but he feared her response. Connor recoiled at the helpless feeling that washed over him.

“I’d like hot tea,” she said, finally looking up. “I’m sorry I was late. I had to handle a call as I was leaving.”

“No problem.” Connor beckoned the waitress and ordered the tea, then perused the menu, hoping that time and silence might pull things into perspective. Nearly eight years had passed since he’d seen Ellene. Yet emotionally, he felt as if it had been the day before.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, unleashing the thoughts from his mind.

“Yes, it has.”

She said nothing more, and he took his cue from her. He selected his meal, though his stomach had tied in knots from the moment he’d sat at the table.

The strained silence rattled him; he felt his knee bouncing beneath the table again, and he braced his heel against the floor, forcing his leg to steady. “I don’t know if your dad told you, but I’ve inherited my mother’s summer home on Harsens Island.”

“I heard about your mom’s death, Connor. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. She’d been ill for a while.”

“I was very fond of your mom.”

Warm memories filled him. “I know, and she was crazy about you.” The silence in the air was charged with memories.

The waitress returned with the tea and took their orders. Ellene dropped the bag into the metal pot, then dipped it a few times. Finally she rolled the string around the bag, gave a pull and set it on the saucer.

Connor wanted to grab the pot and drain it into the cup to complete the ritual so they could talk. His leg began jigging again, and he stretched it out, determined to relax.

Ellene poured the tea, took a careful sip, then looked at him. “So, what can Bordini Construction do for you?”

Connor pulled his knee up sharply and whacked the bottom of the table. Her tea splashed over the edge into the saucer. “Sorry,” he said, grabbing his napkin and dabbing the liquid.

“It’s fine. That’s what saucers are for.”

He pulled away the soggy napkin and placed the dry side onto his lap, feeling like a gangling teenager. When he looked at Ellene, she gave him a wide-eyed gaze.

“Back to business,” she said. “Dad said you wanted some work done. What kind of renovations are you talking about? What time frame are we discussing?”

“I’d like to enlarge both bedrooms, add a garage. Possibly make the porch a year-round room.”

“It’s screened now.”

He nodded, pleased that she remembered, because that might mean she recalled them together there, their kisses so emotional he had to rein in his longing, a yearning he controlled for her sake. He’d revered her upbringing and only wished he had continued that kind of restraint.

“We need another bathroom upstairs, too,” he said as an afterthought.

Ellene’s head jerked upward while an uneasy expression filled her face. “You said we. Now that I think of it, I’d feel more comfortable if your wife were with us, Connor. I’d like to hear her ideas in her own words.”

Her question startled him. “Apparently you haven’t heard.”

Ellene’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re divorced?”

Her tone reminded him she didn’t approve of divorce. “No. Melanie died. An aneurism. It all happened too fast. I wasn’t prepared.”

Ellene’s frown faded. “I’m sorry, Connor. I hadn’t heard.” She lifted a finger and wound it through a strand of hair. “Sadly, falling in love offers no guarantees.”

Her comment brought on difficult memories. “I know.” His loving relationship with Ellene filled his mind with a rush of nostalgia. He gazed at the tilt of her head and the look in her eyes, unable to explain the rising sensation that fluttered through him like summer moths.

The twirled strand of hair fell into a ringlet when she lowered her hand. “So then who is the ‘we’ you mentioned?”

He pulled his gaze from the twist of hair. “My daughter. Caitlin. She’s six.”

Ellene’s pulse skipped. “A daughter.” Disbelief and sadness vied within her. She looked at Connor with fresh eyes. “A daughter,” she repeated, picturing her career-filled life.

He shrugged as if not knowing how to respond. “It’s been difficult raising her alone for the past couple of years.”

“I’m sure it has,” she said, trying to make sense of the sweep of emotion that overtook her. She could have married, too. She could’ve had a child and not just a career. The choice had been hers.

The waitress saved her from further conversation. Her salad arrived, and Connor’s burger. They quieted, each delving into their meals. But Ellene’s appetite had waned. Connor, a dad. The vision filled her mind. As she swallowed, lettuce caught in her throat. She coughed, to no avail, then gave up and washed it down with a drink of tea.

Connor lowered his sandwich and wiped his mouth. “After mom died, the cottage seemed a perfect place to bring Caitlin. My mother’s sister—remember my aunt Phyllis?—she lives next door, and we’ll be close to her. It’ll be good.”

Ellene couldn’t deal with all the details spilling from him. She pushed the greens around in her bowl, longing to get away and sort her emotions. She wanted to be distant and businesslike, but he’d dropped a surprise into the mix. A six-year-old daughter. A little girl without a mother.

Ellene remembered one of her friends losing her mother when they were both children. How did a child deal with the loss? How had Connor explained his wife’s death? And without a strong faith, what hope had Connor offered his child?

She jerked her mind back to their business. “When do you want me to see the cabin?”

“What’s good for you?”

Not this, she thought. Ellene felt Connor’s knee jerking beneath the table. He always did that when he was edgy. She leaned down to pick up her handbag tucked beneath her chair. “I don’t know,” she said, unzipping the top and pulling out her daily planner.

She tilted the notebook away from Connor. Free days rose from the page, but her self-preservation fought going to the familiar cabin and seeing the little girl. Caitlin, he’d called her. A good old Irish name to go with Faraday. What might she and Connor have named their daughter? A knot twisted in her chest.

Ellene felt Connor’s gaze on her, and she lifted her focus from the planner. Her heartbeat skipped when she saw the look in his crystal-blue eyes. She could never forget his eyes or the elfin grin that looked so mischievous it made her laugh.

Today she saw only confusion.

“How about next week? Thursday or Friday?” she asked.

A frown sprang to his face. “Is this Saturday bad for you?”